


Memory Maker

by shangheists



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Disney World Cast Member AU, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8013076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shangheists/pseuds/shangheists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can make a family out of almost anyone, as a group of Cast Members, each with different roles in the show, learn over the course of a year. And it all starts one hot summer afternoon in the most magical place on earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It seemed all too surreal, stepping into the park in a collared shirt and dress shoes. Everything was more or less the same; the music that to the weary chagrin of all the Cast Members looped at the entrance every day from the early morning hours before the park opened all the way until the cleaning crews came in at night at the all-clear, the overpowering smell of popcorn and confectionary that was all too unwelcome on an empty stomach, the impatient bouncing of eager children all too ready to be at the head of the lines.

 

And yet everything was different. Anaheim was over two thousand miles away from where he called home, from the family he had built and grown close to only to bid them a farewell. Remembering them brought a tender pain up to his chest. He brushed it away with a thought. The past was meant to be left at the train station, and he’d be damned if he let nostalgia follow him here.

 

Besides, it wasn’t as if they would let him forget them, not that he would even be able to forget about them considering he carried them with him.

 

He turned his attention to the album he carried, brushing his fingers over the deep red faux leather and gold lettering gently as if he feared it would loose the binding and fall apart. “The Happiest Place on Earth.” A bit sappy of them, he thought, but for what it represented meant the world to him, and that made it just as precious and merit the care.

 

Throwing whatever caution he’d held to the wind, he flipped it open and allowed himself to look back and remember, if only for a moment.

 

The first photo in the album brought a chuckle to his lips. He looked so young, with his shaggy-enough hair and wide eyes, not to mention the terrible plaid vest.

 

Young, he repeated to himself. It hadn’t truly been that long ago, a bit over a year, perhaps, maybe two, but it seemed to him like an eternity had passed. It was worrying how fast time flew right by him. But he had to digress. After all, he  _ had  _ been a completely different person then. But Main Street USA had been where it all started.

 

°O°

 

An Orlando August was not a forgiving time, if he was going to put it lightly. It was humid and sweltering, and the sun shone without any resistance. It seemed Orlando stopped caring about the much-needed afternoon sunshowers that fell promptly at 15:00 every day and cooled Florida enough to think. He supposed it was too hot for even the clouds to remember their assigned task. He could relate, honestly.

 

He’d weathered plenty of these summers before, sure, but that didn’t meant he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) complain about it all, if only to himself and to make brief small-talk with his fellow cast. He was thankful for it even, in a way. It kept the conversations short and  from falling as flat as the present wind. Or lack thereof.

 

He was doubly thankful for the fact that he was, for the time being, assigned to an indoor register. When he’d come to clock in, he and a college intern whose name tag said he was from somewhere in Ohio had come for an assignment at the same time. The poor kid in his haste to clock in on time had made the mistake of getting his assignment first and thus drew the short stick.The Emporium may be busiest shop in the park, sure, but it beat vending balloons or spray fans out where the bulk of the crowd was. He’d wilt in ten minutes.

 

Had he not cast a pitying glance out the window at the thought, he would have missed him.

 

A man he had never seen was out there giving a bottle of water to the no-doubt parched intern. Studying him more closely, he saw that he wore a perfectly pressed button-down tucked perfectly into belted slacks, dress shoes, and a purple tie to top it all off. Perfection in business casual. Suspicious, he thought, and looked more intently, this time at his equipment. He was wearing an earpiece and -- the man turned, and there it was. The trash-picker. Odd. He was sure he’d met all his Leaders, and he hadn’t heard of anyone leaving or being replaced recently, so who was this man? It would have to wait. His shift had only started forty-five minutes ago, and he had a register to atte-

 

“Keith, if you have no Guests, please remember to step out from behind the register,” came a voice with a certain degree of authority.

 

Keith righted himself instantly. “Sorry, Allura. I know better.”

 

“I know you do,” she said, offering him a smile, a genuine one that reached her eyes, a blue and true as the cloudless sky outside, and framed by her platinum-sheen hair. Like everyone else who worked in the park, she’d wanted to be in Entertainment at one point as a face character, she’d told him one day while they were chatting, but she hadn’t gotten past the typecasting -- she was too dark, they’d said --  so she’d eventually settled on a professional internship in management. And, honestly, Keith felt that Allura’s role as a Leader was more fitting. She commanded action but didn’t sacrifice kindness and courtesy like some other managers Keith knew. Yet another thing he was thankful for.

 

“But I didn’t come over here just to give critique,” Allura continued, her voice a song. “I have something for you that finally came in today!” She fished in her pocket and retrieved something flat that she held out for Keith to take.

 

The difference between this new name tag and the old one he wore was like the oppressive summer heat they were suffering through and the icy cold of an Alaskan winter. On the old, his name was largely faded and scratched out, and when he took it off, the pin threatened to detach from the body. The new one, in his literal other hand, was pristine, reflective, and -- most importantly -- had 日本語 attached to the bottom in embossed gold.

 

“I’m surprised it took you this long to take your language test,” Allura said with a tinge of good-natured disappointment and her eyebrows raised. “You’ve been able to speak Japanese all this time, and you’ve been with us for how long? Three years? Honestly, Keith, you’re usually more on top of things than this.”

 

“It just didn’t seem very pressing,” Keith offered with a shrug. “I can usually tell when a guest speaks Japanese first, anyway. It’s a nice surprise for them.”

 

“Well, now you won’t have to surprise anyone. Come, there’s someone I think I have a use for it.” And before Keith could protest, she led him lightly yet urgently by the crook of his elbow outside to Main Street itself -- and to the man Keith had been scrutinizing only moments prior.

 

“Shiro!” Allura sang, and the man turn to face her. “I have someone I feel like you should meet. You two should have a  _ lot  _ in common,” she added, thumping him in the lapel lightly.

 

The man -- Shiro -- blinked for a short moment before realization dawned upon him. His eyes flicked to Keith’s chest. “Ah! Nihongo o shaberu?”

 

“It took a few seconds longer than Keith would have liked to realize he had noticed the language pin on his name tag. His pin. The one he had just gotten. The one for the language he was expecting him to respond in. The one he was anticipating him to make use of  _ right now _ .

 

"U-un. Nihongo o hanaseru," he confirmed, and then, realizing his error, quickly corrected himself, "Ohanaseshimasu."

 

_ Great _ .  _ Nice first impression with that dictionary form. Now he's gonna think you're rude _ , Keith thought, chastising himself. Maybe he'd accept the polite speech after he’d blurted out. That was wishful thinking, surely.

 

"Kenj ō go?" The man's eyebrows shot up; he clearly hadn't expected complex grammar out of an American, Keith thought. "J ō zu." A compliment.

 

"Iie, heta da to oomoishimasu,” Keith said, discounting his skill. It was the polite thing to do, yes, but he felt it was also the truth.

 

He laughed then, hearty and genuine, and gave him a firm pat on the back, causing Keith to jerk forward and release what he hoped was a stifled  _ oof _ . “No, you’re doing really well. Consider me impressed. I’m Shiro, by the way.”

 

He extended his hand, and that was when Keith noticed the prosthetic. Not wanting to seem hesitant, he met his hand with his own. “Keith.”

 

“Shiro here is one of the duty managers. He helps oversee Main Street, Adventureland, and Liberty Square,” Allura said, and Keith had to admit that he’d almost forgotten she was there in the short time he and Shiro had conversed. “He’s here to make sure the show goes on, and he came here all the way from Anaheim to help us ensure it runs smoothly.”

 

Shiro smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t really do much. It’s the rest of the cast that makes it all come together.”

 

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” Allura chided, though her smile didn’t leave her face. “You help make it all possible.”

 

“My role is no more important than any one cast member’s. No one person can make it all happen. Right, Keith?”

 

Keith blanked. He had been expecting to be benched during this exchange, but this man was trying to keep him from being shut out with an encouraging smile, softer and more honest than any of the trademark Disney smiles other cast members wore. He didn’t know what to do with that. “Uh, that’s what the signs posted on all the construction barriers say.”

 

Shiro laughed. “‘You can design and create, and build the most wonderful place in the world. But it takes people to make the dream a reality.’”

 

“Don’t you bring Walt into this, Shiro,” Allura said sternly, pointing a finger in his face and then shoving him when he’d laughed again.

 

“No, no, I think Keith has the right idea,” he managed to get out between laughs.

 

Then he put a hand on his shoulder.

 

Keith hadn’t known what to do with that, either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge sighed and concentrated all of her energy on ensuring her face remained stage-friendly. It was stiflingly humid under the sun overhead, and on days like this, tempers were prone to conflagrate. The last thing she needed was for this to escalate and erupt into something ugly. No matter how she wanted it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short, but I need to get everyone introduced before I start stirring in the plot.

“Sir, excuse me, but I need you to stand on the other side of the tape.”

 

“Why?” came the decidedly offended, entitled, and completely unoriginal reply. “There’s plenty of space right here where I’ll actually be able to SEE everything!”

 

Pidge sighed and concentrated all of her energy on ensuring her face remained stage-friendly. It was stiflingly humid under the sun overhead, and on days like this, tempers were prone to conflagrate. The last thing she needed was for this to escalate and erupt into something ugly. No matter how she wanted it to.

 

The guest’s voice was dripping with unwarranted vitriol as he continued. “Do you know how much I paid to get me and my family in this park?”

 

She refused to engage him on this. She knew  _ exactly  _ how much he’d paid: the same as everyone else in the park. It didn’t make him any more or less deserving of a better viewing spot than anyone else. She wanted to tell him all of this, lay it all out in front of him and make him see just how absurdly he was behaving.

 

But she didn’t.

 

Pidge was acutely aware that she was most likely no longer actually smiling, but crossed her arms and kept her eyes focused on the guest’s, refusing to break eye contact. She’d studied psychology; she knew better than to, but she was still aware of the castle behind them and she wanted nothing more than to bibbity-boppity-boot him out.

 

“I know it’s frustrating--”  _ Understatement _ . “--but it’s a safety-related issue. The tape is put down to ensure that the parade has a clear and defined path. If you cross it, you would put not only the performers but yourself in harm’s way.”

 

At this, the guest clearly had no retort to offer, his eyes darting every which way in an attempt to scrape something coherent together, and before long, he closed his mouth and moved back in reluctant acquiescence.

 

Yeah, she thought so.

 

Adequately satisfied, Pidge uncrossed her arms from her red vest and dusted her hands together as she turned to leave. As much freedom as she had to roam her assigned area, it would be better if she returned to the tape walkway. She’d need to man it to ensure no guests crossed when there were floats coming, not to mention she’d have a better vie--

 

“Say cheese!” came a voice from behind a camera that was at a distance that registered as “dangerously close,” eliciting a startled yelp and jump from Pidge.

 

“Hm, it’s not a traditional photo, but it’s certainly a more memorable one.”

 

“Coran!” Pidge hissed, remembering just in time to not shout and draw any real attention to the two of them. She jerked herself back into a rigid stance and looked him crossly in the eye. “What could you have  _ possibly  _ thought was ‘memorable’ enough for a photograph?”

 

“Well, before you almost squared off with a guest who would’ve flattened you easily, you had your arms on your waist like so, and you looked like you would’ve taken off to the stars.” He showed the digital screen to Pidge and, sure enough, she’d been in a casual Peter Pan stance looking off into the distance with the crowd of guests behind her. It almost seemed like she didn’t notice them and was already halfway to morning. “I felt it merited a close-up.”

 

“It’s a shame, really,” Coran continued, absently fiddling with the end of his mustache. “The shot could’ve been better if that ruffian’s shadow hadn’t been blocking half of the street.”

 

Pidge snorted. “His shadow wouldn’t’ve been the only thing blocking something. His entire body would’ve stopped Cinderella’s coach in its tracks. Or run him over.”

 

“Ah, ah, we don’t need to be having those kinds of dreams. Supposed to be happy here, remember?” Coran chided, letting his camera down against the turn-of-the-century blue of his costume in order to wave a finger.

 

“I just don’t see why we can’t throw them into the moat. They’d be too busy complaining and drown in a foot of water,” Pidge said, throwing her arms out to her sides. “That’d make  _ me  _ happy.”

 

“You shouldn’t let them crawl under your skin like that,” Coran said. “You’d have a much better time if you weren’t such a hot-head.”

 

Pidge avoided the urge to roll her eyes at the malaphor, knowing that he was right, opting instead for her own retort. “Yeah, but it’s hard not to be when you’re standing in one hundred degree heat for several hours at a time.”

 

“I guess it takes some practice,” Coran said with a shrug, and suddenly Pidge felt stupidity weigh on the back of her head.

 

She slapped the butt of her palm to her forehead. Of  _ course  _ he would know. He was PhotoPass on Main Street. They spent just as much time outside as any PAC cast member did, if not more. She had no right to complain.

 

“No, you’re right, Coran. If I want to enjoy my job, I need to change my attitude,” she sighed.

 

“That’s the spirit, Pidge! Now let’s see a convincing smile, right?” he said, and she gave an honest try as she heard the shutter. He touched a card to the camera before returning it to his costume’s pocket. “Now try to keep your head up. It’s almost 15:00, so the parade will start soon. You don’t wanna miss that.”

 

Pidge stifled a sarcastic snort and instead offered a neutral huff in its place. It wasn’t like it was small enough to miss or like she didn’t get to see it every day. “I’ll do my best.”

 

And she’d honestly planned on it until she felt a finger tap her shoulder from behind.

 

“Excuse me, where can I get a butterbeer?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dole out that softserve because, man, am I whipped.”

“ _ Dole _ out that softserve because, man, am I  _ whipped _ .”

 

“Oh no, no, no, no. No. Lance, you know you can’t be back here! And also, that was probably the worst joke you’ve ever told.”

 

“Are you sure you can’t just…  _ float  _ me one?”

 

Hunk groaned. “That one was even  _ worse _ . And more expensive.”

 

“C’mon, Hunk, you know they won’t let me into the Skipper Canteen,” Lance whined. “And the parade’s going, so there’s like no one in the entirety of Adventureland right now. Can’t you just write one off as a magical moment or something?”

 

“I dunno, Lance, I…” He looked over the other’s face, now painted over in a pitiful pout. This was impossible.

 

Hunk sighed. “Ok, I’ll make you a dole whip float, but only because you look like you’ve been out in the sun for hours and need to cool off.”

 

“That’s because I  _ have  _ been in the sun for hours,” Lance said, leaning against the counter. “I can’t even remember how many spiels I did I got out before they rotated me to the docks.”

 

“You got rotated to the docks?” Hunk asked as he worked the machine. “How did they not notice you slipped away, like, at all?”

 

“Well, I mean, I didn’t really ditch so much as get bumped to break,” Lance said with a shrug. “I kinda don’t wanna get fired after getting my dream role.”

 

“Oh, right, I guess that would make more sense, wouldn’t it,” Hunk mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I probably should’ve guessed at that. A bit more obvious, huh.”

 

“Nah, don’t beat yourself up over it.”

 

And for a beat, it was silent aside from everything else in the park. Or perhaps it just felt that way between them as they avoided direct eye contact.

 

“Anyway, here’s your float,” Hunk said, tossing the silence aside.

 

“Thanks,” Lance said, perking up considerably as he knocked all of the pineapple juice back almost immediately. “Do you really think I’d actually ditch my position? C’mon, man.”

 

“You did kinda call out a lot during your college program,” Hunk said, pointing a plastic spoon at him. “How many points did you have on your record card by the time May rolled around again?”

 

“Hey, a ton of people did a lot worse than two reprimands and two points,” Lance retorted, taking the plastic spoon with another pout. “Besides, it wasn’t like People Mover had a shortage of workers, like, ever. And do you know how many of those were late points? Patterson doesn’t even have a bus stop.”

 

Hunk laughed. “Yeah, I know, I saw you running to the Chatham stop almost every day and look so betrayed as the bus took off without you.”

 

Lance threw a hand over his heart with an audible thud and looked at Hunk with a face that read  _ how dare you _ . “Why do you mock my pain, my suffering, in this way? Hunk? Hunk! This is no laughing matter!”

 

“I’m soh-- I’m sorry,” Hunk managed to get out between hearty laughs. “I just couldn’t resist.”

 

“Oh yeah? Well, you know what  _ I _ can’t resist?” Lance loaded his spoon up with some of the now partially-melted softserve and bent it back.

 

“Hey, hey, no need for such violence,” a new voice rang in. “It seems a little  _ cold _ , don’t you think?”

 

Lance whipped around with a “Clever wordplay won’t save him no--” before his eyes widened at the sight of a trash picker and he straightened up, dropping the plastic cup to the ground, ice cream and all. Hunk wondered if he could see Lance’s ice cream mustache.

 

“Oh no,” Hunk moaned, putting his face in his hands. “Busted by the duty manager.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “The duty manager is more of an off-duty manager right now.”

 

“You could’ve had us fooled with that picker, Shiro,” Lance said as the other man looked at the item in his hand with a level of surprise. “Though ditching the name tag and earpiece was a nice touch.”

 

“Darn, I guess I blew my cover, then,” Shiro said and snapped his fingers facetiously. “Now that you know I’m cast, you probably wouldn’t be willing to get me a float on my break?”

 

“I guess I could make something magical happen, just for you, Shiro,” Hunk said, and he swore he could have heard Lance’s jaw dropping to the floor next to his own now-forgotten refreshment.

 

“What the heck, Hunk! It took me like five whole minutes just to get you to say yes!” Lance shouted, offense painting his expression.

 

“Yeah, well, Shiro actually remembered to take off his name tag when he came.”

 

“Oh so if I just take mine off right now it’s ok?”

 

“Uh, no, not really. You’re technically still in costume, and Shiro still looks like he could pass as a guest. Not a  _ smart  _ guest since he’s in slacks, but, y’know, still.”

 

Lance looked down at himself, then at Shiro. Their duty manager was sporting a button-down that he’d pushed up to his sleeves and a neat purple tie while he himself was wearing nothing but khaki. Woe of a skipper, he supposed, but he’d picked this poison. “Fair enough… I  _ guess _ .”

 

Hunk then turned to Shiro. “Uh… you won’t tell anyone I snuck you two dole whips, right?”

 

“I won’t breathe a word to anyone,” Shiro said with a chuckle, and Hunk let his shoulders fall a little in relief.

 

“Yeah, we wouldn’t dream of it. Who else would we come talk to during our breaks?” Lance said, elbowing Hunk softly.

 

“Aw, shucks,” Hunk said with a slight blush.

 

“And also who else would give us free swag.” ... _ Aaand there it went _ .

 

“Sometimes, I really wonder about you, Lance.”

 

Shiro interjected before the conversation went further down an accusatory road. “We really do appreciate you, Hunk, and not just for the dole whips. You’re a delight to talk to and always brighten up the day.” He squinted and raised his eyebrows. “Right, Lance?”

 

“More than it needs to be,” Lance sighed, gesturing towards the area outside the awning that was undoubtedly ten degrees hotter than their comfortable shade. “Anyway, my fifteen’s almost up, so I better get back to the jungle. Who knows what they’d all do without me because their jokes would never sail. See ya, Hunk. And you too, Shiro.”

 

They both waved with see ya’s of their own as they watched Lance weave his way through the crowd back from where he’d come from.

 

Shiro turned to him as Hunk handed him a cup and spoon. “You know he doesn’t come unless you’re behind the counter, right?”

 

Hunk leaned over to pick up the trash. “Yeah, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry this one is so short and extremely dialogue-heavy, but I honestly couldn't see Lance as someone who'd stop running his mouth for two seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time actually posting anything I've written, so hopefully everything goes well and I don't immediately hate it afterwards.
> 
> But yeah, a lot of this is going to be written from personal experience and from the stories my friends have had, so know that nothing that's gonna happen is gonna be outlandish in the slightest for a CM. I'll try to keep the CM lingo at a minimum, but know that the capitals and acronyms are an inevitable part of life and that they are coming. after all, the working title for this fic was VLD WDW CM AU.
> 
> Anyway, I don't plan to ruin the magic for anyone - quite the opposite, actually. So I hope you all stay with me on this magical adventure!
> 
> PS: hmu on tumblr if you wanna scream and cry with me. Same name: shangheists


End file.
